your ticket

you might wanna give up your ticket
but don't put mine on the table,
don't think you know right,
right is mine.

yours is a train ride
to hell.
i gotta get up bright eyed and singing,
i gotta get off here.

i don't want your magic,
the kind that turns compliments into insults,
the kind that burns away trust

i don't know why you want to bury your face in death.

i can't
choke on you, not for a day
i can't suffocate here
for a minute, though it's lovely
at first i start to make
dust
from myself & pull my teeth out
in front of the mirror and reverse-age


don't pass your sadness out
like brochures for a concert,
like business cards

god knows
what you are and god
knows what you are
and i know
what you are and god knows
what you are